


Just an Imprint

by Bur



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Implied Relationships, Modern Era, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bur/pseuds/Bur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or "Five Times Jean Remembered Someone From His Past Life and One Time Someone Remembered Him"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just an Imprint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SnK Kink Meme for someone who wanted a Jean reincarnation fic.

Five Times Jean Remembered Someone From His Past Life

_I. Marco_

The first time Jean Kirstein remembered something from what he could later only call his “past life” was during gross anatomy lab his second semester at med school. His group stood around their bagged cadaver, each daring the others to be the one to open it. No one knew who was in there or how they died. Men and women, young and old, the only thing in common would be that they were generally intact.

“Shit,” Jean groused after a minute of no one making a move. “I thought you guys said you were excited about this. Grow some pairs, would you?” He reached over and pulled down the zipper of the body bag, nose wrinkling as the chemical smell in the air thickened.

He didn’t look at the face right away, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the less personal area of their cadaver’s chest. He retained some of what once must have been a healthy tan. Freckles washed over from his shoulders and down his torso in a wave. Jean had a fondness for freckles - always had - and could feel himself becoming attached to their cadaver already. He knew what they looked like really didn’t matter, or so the older students had said. That no matter what you grew attached to your cadaver, that there was a special intimacy in your first that transcended their appearance. One professor, eyes gleaming with a strange madness behind her glasses, had said cutting into your first cadaver was like losing your virginity all over again.

It was a terrible sort of irony that that’s what he remembered when he saw their cadaver’s face. Not the embarrassing one-night stand from college. No, as he took a shivering step away from the table he remembered a drafty wood shed and the smell of grease and metal and a warm, smiling voice asking to hold Jean’s hand.

He remembered half of a body covered in flies.

“Hey, Marco— Is that you?” Jean’s voice sounded strange in his ears, like it was in two places at once.

His group was looking at him with a quiet horror. “You know him?” one girl asked in a reverent hush.

Jean grabbed their orange biohazard bucket and threw up.

_II. Sasha_

This was fucking unbelievable. What the _hell_ did Shadis think he was doing? He was a doctor, not some damn greenhorn. Unlike the pony-tailed girl next to him, who had set to her task with the happy sort of gusto that only the purest form of idiocy can bring. The deft hand she showed as she peeled through the small mountain of potatoes showed she’d been here before, probably several times.

It was all Private Jeager’s fault he was on KP duty. Something about him rubbed Jean the wrong way in _every_ way. He was so self-righteous all up on his fucking horse, looking down on everyone who went into the military for career perks. Jean could feel his temper rising just thinking about it. Jeager had _no_ idea how far in debt Jean’d be if he hadn’t let the army pick up the tab for him. He’d had no choice but to punch him.

“Fucking prick,” he grumbled to himself and channeled his anger towards cleaning out a particularly well-crusted pan. He turned his gaze over to the girl, who had started to cheerily hum a pop song he’d overheard snatches of on the base clinic’s radio. “What does someone like you do in the army?” he asked.

“Sniper,” she answered with a bright smile. “Private Blause, sir.”

“Huh,” he said, and turned back to the sink. “You don’t look the type.” Jean rinsed off the pan and set it in the drying rack. “Dr. Kirstein,” he said as a belated introduction.

“With all due respect, sir, you don’t look much like a doctor.”

“Fair enough.” According to at least one of his past patients he had ‘the face of a thug’. Not really what a doctor was supposed to look like.

They worked in a comfortable silence, or near enough between the metal clangs and humming, for several minutes before Blause cleared her throat.

“Dr. Kirstein, sir,” she said hesitantly, “can I talk to you about something?”

“Go for it,” Jean said. “It’s one of the things I’m here for. Even in my job description.”

The silence lasted long enough that Jean wondered if she’d lost her nerve. “My first hit’s coming up. I’ve never killed anyone, sir. Only animals while hunting.” Blause set her peeler down on her knee and leaned back in her stool until her shoulders hit the wall. “What if I choke? What if I _don’t_?”

Jean dried his hands and leaned against the sink. “This is kind of outside my field of expertise, but this is the life you chose, right? No one else convinced you to come to this hellhole.”

“I _know_ ”, Blause said. “That’s what makes this kind of shameful, you know? What kind of sniper would I be if I backed down from my target? I shouldn’t even be thinking about it!”

“You can get your spotter to punish you for it later.” Jean rested his fist on his hip. “Maybe it’s because I’m a doctor, but I don’t think killing someone should be an easy thing to do. Up here, anyways,” he said, tapping his head. And maybe that was another reason Jeager rubbed him wrong. “So _I_ don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of just thinking about it.”

Blause picked up another potato and peeled it in a few quick strokes. “Thanks, sir.”

“Any time, Sasha.”

It was only later that Jean realized Private Blause had never told him her first name.

_III. Thomas_

In retrospect going to see a zombie movie was the shittiest idea ever. With weird fog-hazed memories from a life filled with human-eating giants floating around in his head he really should have known better, but at least he’d avoided humiliation by going by himself. Only twenty minutes in he’d rushed out of the theater like his feet were on fire, his mind reeling with half-remembered screams and flashes of bodies being torn apart mixing with and enhanced by the very clear memories of the same when his assigned base had become a combat zone last year. Too many things in Jean’s lives liked to repeat themselves.

Jean sat outside with his back to the theater’s sturdy brick wall. He rested his head between his knees and tried to concentrate on the crisp, winter air. Let it bring him to the present where everything was stiff with cold instead of hot with fear and adrenaline. “You’re a fucking idiot, Jean,” he breathed out harshly.

The door near him slammed open and a blond young man burst through, doubling over with his hands on his knees and gasping for breath as soon as he’d cleared the exit.

Jean straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back to get the blood flowing back into them. “Hey, kid, you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” the young man gave an embarrassed laugh, “I guess the movie just made me freak out.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “Oh, man. The guys are never going to let me live this down.”

“The zombie one?” Jean asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Don’t know why. It looks fake as hell, but getting eaten — that just seems like the worst way to go. I just had to get out of there.”

“I hear you,” Jean said. He stood up slowly, cringing as his knees creaked. What the fuck, he was barely past thirty. His knees shouldn’t creak. “At least you lasted longer than me. Think I’ve been out here for fifteen minutes now.”

“Makes me feel better knowing I’m not the biggest wimp here.”

Jean flipped him off.

The young man laughed and offered his hand. “Thomas. Thomas Wagner.”

Thomas Wagner was swallowed alive. Jean felt lightheaded from the rush of nausea the knowledge brought with it. There weren’t any memories to go with it, but he knew it was true sure as the stars shone above them. No wonder Thomas had run out of there.

“Jean Kirstein.” If his hand was shaking when he gripped Thomas’s at least he had the cold to blame. His hand was warm and firm, and so very alive Jean’s knees felt weak.

“Nice meeting you. Want a smoke?”

Jean shook his head. His mind had room for only one thought. He was so filled with it he felt he might burst: _Thomas Wagner was swallowed alive._

_IV. Reiner_

“Congratulations,” Jean said dryly as he dropped the bullet into the pan a nurse was holding out for him. It joined a large swath of bloodied uniform that had needed to be cut away. “You’ve joined the exclusive ranks of those few, proud soldiers who’ve been shot in the ass.”

Captain Braun groaned and rested his forehead on his arms. “Can’t we pretend it’s a little lower and I got shot in the leg?” he asked.

“Nope.” Jean cheerfully continued, “This is going into your records for eternity: ‘The illustriously decorated Captain Reiner Braun’s only weakness is his ass.’”

Braun grumbled and cursed into his arm as Jean cleaned out the wound. “Is that some kind of gay joke?”

“Not intentionally, but on a related note everyone’s going to be happy to get some of their phone time back.” Jean held back his disappointment. Here was another familiar face who didn’t remember what Jean did. Not that he remembered much. He’d wonder if it was an exceptionally weird manifestation of shell shock if it hadn’t started long before he’d seen a battlefield, and if it weren’t so damn _consistent_.

Braun looked back at him over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Hey, hey, quit moving or you’ll have a scar so ugly your boyfriend’ll have to fuck you with his eyes closed.”

“There isn’t a doctor in the world with worse bedside manner than you, Dr. Kirstein,” Reiner said through gritted teeth as Jean began to sew the wound shut.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to insult the guy fixing up your money maker?”

“Don’t tell me you’re checking me out. That’s fucked up, man.”

“Believe me, there’s not much left back here worth checking out. You are going to be so glad we’re stocked up on painkillers once those endorphins wear off.” Honestly, Jean was surprised that Braun was doing as well as he was. His pain tolerance must be _insane_.

Braun went back to resting his forehead on his arms. “So what did you mean? Am I going home?”

“Cheers, soldier. You’ve earned yourself some leave with a side of physical therapy.”

“That doesn’t disappoint me as much as I thought it would.” Braun hummed into his arm. “Does that make me a bad soldier?” he mused.

“Nah,” Jean said and patted Braun’s intact butt cheek. “Just means you’re human.”

_V. Mikasa_

There were few times in Jean’s life where he’d been rendered speechless, and none of them came remotely close to this.

“This is your cousin, Mikasa,” his mother was saying. “Well, I suppose technically she’s your first cousin once removed. On her father’s side, obviously,” she continued.

Mikasa wasn’t as exotic as his memories wanted her to be, or as pretty, but maybe that’s because he was in his mid-thirties and she was all of eleven. Jean would’ve been incredibly creeped out by himself if he’d been attracted to her.

It wasn’t her age, though, that left him at a loss for words. It was the carefree smile of the child in her yellow sundress as she shyly waved at him. In none of Jean’s recollections of her - few as they were, and full of gaps like all the memories of his self-proclaimed past life - could he find the slightest hint of happiness. Mikasa was always filled with stoicism or fury.

It was like he wasn’t looking at the same person at all. All they shared was a name. It turned his admiration of the young woman who fought so fiercely in his memories to pity as he was finally able to acknowledge how completely shattered she must have been inside.

Jean held out his hand and smiled when her soft, callous-free fingers touched his. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mikasa.” 

One Time Someone Remembered Him

_I. Annie_

The wood of the weathered park bench barely creaked as a slight, young woman sat down next to Jean. “You’re late,” he said.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come. No one else has,” Annie told him without so much as a glance his way. Plastic crinkled as she opened a small bag of bird seed. She scattered some of it on the ground and watched the birds gather. “No one else even answered.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered you wrote to me at all or insulted it took you so long,” Jean said. 

Annie tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s not as if we were close.”

He shifted to have a better look at her. Out of everyone he’d met Annie was the most similar-looking to the person he had known, if a few years older than he remembered. It was almost to the point of parody with her half-jacket, cream hoodie, tight jeans, and high boots. Her face had the shadow-filled hollowed out look of someone with a heavy weight on her shoulders. Or a starving college student. If Jean was guessing her age right she might be both.

“Were you close to _anyone_?” Jean asked and leaned his head over the back of the bench. The leaves rustled above them in the cool, spring breeze and muted the sunlight. It made the atmosphere between them soft and sweet, maybe because the situation Jean now found himself in already felt so much like a dream. The loudest sound was the cooing of the birds as they pushed at each other for food, nearly, but not quite, drowning out the white noise from the traffic beyond the park’s edge.

“I suppose not.” Annie leaned down and extended her arm, cupped hand filled with seed, and tried to coax a bird to perch on her fingers.

“Why did you want to see me?” he asked. “I don’t have a lot of leave time, you know, and plane tickets are expensive. It better be worth it.” He straightened up and rested his arm over the back of the bench instead and crossed his legs. “Why write letters at all?”

“It’s not like I’m looking for absolution or someone to apologize to,” Annie said firmly. “I did what I did. I just…” She trailed off and looked past her now-empty hand to the birds that lingered around it.

“Yeah?” Jean prompted.

Annie’s hair slid forward and hid her face. “I just want to know you’re doing all right.”

There were nearly twenty years between them now, and Jean felt the press and pull each one of against him. He sighed. “Nothing you did then was bad enough to mess up my life, if that’s what you mean. I can screw myself over plenty good without help, thank you.” And he had, royally. Jean _had_ planned on serving with the army for just the years required to cover his schooling, but when the time had come to leave he’d found himself re-enlisting instead. So much for his dream of a lucrative private practice.

She looked up at him, and Jean wondered how little she slept to have bags like that under her eyes. It wasn’t healthy for a girl her age. “Nice to see some things don’t change,” she said with a forced lightness.

“Wish I could say the same, but I don’t think you’ve changed nearly enough,” Jean said.

“How can I?” Annie asked. “I remember _everything_.”

Jean felt his eyes widen in surprise. “Really? I only remember bits and pieces, or maybe something more like an imprint. Mostly the unpleasant stuff.” He frowned in thought. “Guess your whole life was unpleasant stuff, then,” he said.

Annie stayed silent.

“Hey,” Jean continued, “tell me. Did you die inside that crystal? I can’t remember.”

She frowned and sucked a breath in sharply between her teeth, but still didn’t say anything.

“Fine, fine. Sore subject. I get it.”

An unpleasant silence fell between them. Annie reached into the pocket of her hoodie for another bag of bird seed as Jean racked his brain for something else to say. Like hell he traveled halfway across the country for a ten minute conversation.

“You ever think about joining the army?” he asked eventually.

“What.” The annoyed look she gave him was a very familiar one.

“You know, meet new people, see the world. ‘Be all you can be.’” He gave her his best shit-eating grin. “Seems to me that you’re in a metaphysical rut and need a change of pace.”

“Are you out of your _mind_?”

“How about this, then: I got to pull a bullet out of Reiner’s ass.” He stretched his arms in front of him as nonchalantly as he could, which, truth be told, wasn’t very. “No sign of mental instability, by the way. He’s as rocksteady as he wanted to be. Father to his men, and all that.” He glanced over to gauge her interest and found her eyes boring him into him with an unsettling intensity he associated with a much larger body. “I haven’t met Bertholdt, if you’re wondering, but Eren was as still insufferable as ever last I saw him, which was, oh, ten years ago give or take. I’m sure he’s still insufferable.”

She was practically leaning into him now, as if using his words like a rope to pull herself out of her self-imposed quagmire.

“There’s a lot of them there,” he said. “It’s like the military is a part of their souls now or something. I don’t always remember their names, but I _know_ I know them. Maybe joining and seeing for yourself would give you some peace of mind, and when your five years are up you can move on and live your life. Because you sure as hell don’t look like you’re doing much living now.”

The rope snapped. She sat back heavily and looked out across the park. “People like me don’t deserve a good life.”

He hesitated a moment and then rested his hand on her shoulder. It felt far too thin. “Just give it some thought, okay?”

She didn’t answer and Jean didn’t press. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, but maybe he could come out here and try again his next leave. And the next, if he had to. He’d wear Annie down eventually. There wasn’t anyone Jean couldn’t out-stubborn.


End file.
